


Milk and Coffee

by shslpenda (notcoolhajime)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Communication Failure, Crushing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Illness, Implied self-destructive habits, Love, M/M, Relationship Problems, Talentless AU, Understanding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcoolhajime/pseuds/shslpenda
Summary: 1. Coffee: There's a strength in him, a stubbornness, a tenacity. A warmth that sings off his skin without being syrupy. More than anything, he's a warmth like coffee. It doesn't pretend, or hide its bitter real taste, and it’s so comforting that way... and because of that, Komaeda loved him.2. Milk: Sometimes it's easy to get lost in someone’s kisses, be comfortable in your skin, and forget how disgusting you really are. On the surface you masquerade as gentility, but inside you’re spoiled milk.(In which life is never easy, and sometimes you just get bitter coffee, hurt feelings and a heart to heart you don't want to have.)Talentless AU/ Happy Birthday, Jen! / Comfort / Illness





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yaomeimei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaomeimei/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEN! I'm terrified, haha! 
> 
> This is/will be heavily based on Ito Kashitaro's amazing song **"Milk & Coffee"**. Whether this fic is the way you like your coffee or not, I highly recommend this _beautiful_ song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nTNljvrKvg
> 
> So... *laughs* who's ready for a grammatical nightmare? Writing blatant romance...... new territory...
> 
> UHHH... I'm terrible... and because of it, what I originally wanted to write for your birthday will actually be in the second chapter [edit: ..... third] but it wouldn't work without establishment and world building first... so this is basically an exploration / establishing / world building chapter... but I hope you like it anyway! The second chapter will probably be a different style.
> 
> [Warning: also, uhm... nsfw? *nervous laugh*]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a strength in him, a stubbornness, a tenacity. A warmth that sings off his skin, without being syrupy. More than anything, he's a warmth like coffee. It doesn't pretend, or hide it’s bitter real taste, and it’s so comforting that way.
> 
> And because of it everyone loved him.

It was nice, the first time meeting him, backed up against the wall of the club with the other boy standing confidently over him. Chestnut coloured spiked hair, arm planted against the wall in a very guy-ish way, like how he’d seen so often in the movies, often when someone was being bullied, or a girl being hit on. But Komaeda was just intrigued someone was near him, talking so casually. The boy had a blunt way of speaking, gaze travelling across the green lights, multi colored flashing strobe, and pulsing music. Komaeda felt so alive for the first time in… a long time. In fact, he’s not sure if he’s ever felt like this, or at least if he had, it was probably when he was too young to remember.

“Komaeda?” his head jolts up. Someone was using his name so normally, _so early_. “Are you alone?”

“Huh?”

“Right now, I mean. I saw you were-”

“Ahah, yes, I'm _very_ alone.” It slips out before he can stop it, the words that always fall out unintentionally, and he almost winced in surprise, eyes flying up to check on his features. Still undeterred, maybe a little softer.

“I’m with a few friends right now. Wanna join?”

Komaeda shakes his head, hand coming out in apology. “Ah, no. I’d rather not ruin your night. Thank you for talking with me.” He smiles, and slowly starts to lift himself off the wall.

“Oh… wait.” The boy pushed off the wall too, and he’s patting all over his black jeans, and polo shirt, even if there were no pockets there. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for, pulling out his smartphone, tapping the screen hurriedly. When the screen turns on, it flashes a taunting white battery, switching off. The boy stares in disbelief, groaning.

“Unlucky.” Komaeda finds himself laughing breathily, warm feeling hugging his body at the enthusiasm and the sulky annoyance in front of him. Somewhere in the crowd, he thinks he can hear Hinata’s name, and the other boy realises too, obvious disappointment in his face. Komaeda’s own fingers shy on top of his own pocket, dusting the electronic inside, but he decides against it. He’s about to turn away, when Hinata’s looking over his shoulder.

“When will you be back?” he says, and Komaeda’s confused. He doesn't come often, and he's not sure why anyone would need to know.

“I wasn't planning to.”

A contemplative expression. “... Then I’ll ask you to. Do you have time on Friday?”

_Hinata!_

The calling’s louder now, and Komaeda feels it in his chest. _Has anyone ever called out to him like that before?_

“Komaeda?” He looks up and the green eyes staring back at him are anticipating. “Will you come back?”

“I’ll think about it.” He replies.

Hinata lets out a weak laugh. “Well, I hope you do.”

“Aha... I hope so too.”

It’s just a foreign feeling, is all, walking home with this warm wavering in his chest. The feeling of chocolate warmth seeping into his veins is a bit too much to bear.

 

…

 

Hinata doesn't hold back, is what Komaeda realised, after they met once again in the club, exchanged phone numbers, and within minutes they’re at the bar. Komaeda’s staring curiously at the green drink in front of him, bubbling up like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. He’s distracted, not quite sure what it is that comes out from own his rotten mouth before he hears silence beside him… and Komaeda thinks: _well, there we go_. He’s about to hop off the stool, sighing, hand in his hair, about to admit he almost let himself get a little sad it has to end here, fingers digging the change out of his pockets, when:

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going?” calls out behind him.

“Excuse me?”

 _Home_ , he wants to say, because he's opened his mouth so obviously that means-

“Uhm, no? No, you don't.” Hinata says, pointing, and Komaeda’s blinking. “You’re not getting away with something like that.”

_Excuse me?_

“A-at least… not until I tell you why… what you said just now was... so _wrong_.”

_Huh?_

“Ahah, but Hinata-kun... _you’re_ wrong.” He’s gravitating onto the chair again, elbows propped onto the table, letting his lashes lower, a smirk playing on his lips.

Hinata’s eyes narrow, firmly, leaning over the marble counter. Komaeda watches as Hinata's fingers drum along the table. “Well… allow me to cut through those words.”

It’s the most embarrassingly awkward line Komaeda has ever heard from any book or show or game he’s ever laid eyes on. He masks the chuckle that comes out as a drawled out hum, lips still quirked in a quiet smile.

There was no way someone so ordinary could win. Whether he was here by luck or not, he was in Hope’s Peak, and Hinata went to that nameless school Komaeda couldn't even remember. It was cute to see him try, though.

That’s how he found out Hinata-kun really liked debating.

 

...

 

There’s really no stopping Hinata-kun. He’s always barging into his dorm (after asking, of course), with either a drink or a small gift in hand, settling himself down on the bed or the chair or sometimes the floor… where-ever Komaeda is sitting, really, as he takes out his books and pen and gets to studying, or playing games, or just watching the television with him… whatever he felt like doing that day.

He’s not really sure why the boy gets so close, so personal, _and so quick_ , but he’s kind of an unstoppable force. Like the sun. Impossible to ignore once his eyes are set on something, and he does what he wants.

He's not the most well known boy on the planet, because he really is truly ordinary, but once anyone gets to know him, it's impossible to pull yourself away. There’s a small part of him that was disheartened, at first, when he came to school the other day and saw Hinata in a headlock under Souda’s arm, even Nanami looked up from her precious gameboy to laugh. The boy really knew how to get to anyone, so it wasn't just him, and he knew how to get to _his class_ better than he did.

There's a strength in him, a stubbornness, a tenacity. A warmth that sings off his skin, without being syrupy. More than anything, he's a warmth like coffee. It doesn't pretend, or hide it’s bitter real taste, and it’s so comforting that way.

And because of it everyone loved him.

It’s not long before the days where Hinata is too busy to come feel awfully lonely. It’s a strange thing to feel lonely again, because it’s probably the same as before. He just used to call it _normal_.

 

…

 

“Argh, I can't believe she’s taken.” Hinata hammers a fist on the table, other hand in his bristly hair.

Komaeda looks up slowly from his above his milk tea, pointing the straw into his lips, giving a long suck, chewing on sticky pearls, creamy taste coaxing his tongue.

Liking someone straight was a hard thing to do, but there’s no disappointment when someone being around you is already an unimaginable blessing in the first place. He pokes at the black pearls, swirling them around into a whirlpool with his pink straw.

“Nanami-san?”

Hinata furrows his eyebrows. “No... Pekoyama… ” Hinata narrows his eyes. “Nanami? Taken? Maybe if she can look up from her game long enough to meet a guy’s eyes, she’d have a chance at a relationship...” He says fondly, green eyes closing in a teasing smile. It's so bright Komaeda smiles too.

“Even Hinata-kun wouldn't stand a chance against her games.”

“You bet… imagine getting into Hope’s Peak from a _gaming_ tournament.”

“Nanami-san is talented. All your studying won’t even graze her level. She’s almost like...” Komaeda thinks, pushing back from the table. “... an Ultimate.” _Ah_ … that sounded about right.

“Huh.” Hinata speaks idly. “I’ll beat her at one of her games, one day. Then maybe I can get in like that too.”

Komaeda knows Hinata is hungry- ravenous- to transfer into Hope’s Peak. But regardless of all the sweat and hard work he puts into it, they both know it’s a near impossible dream. Hinata is almost too ordinary. But it didn't stop him from trying, though. Komaeda thinks it's amazing that the boy can keep charging ahead, undeterred and unshakable. Life as Hinata-kun must be easy.

“Ahah- Hinata-kun. If you really mean to beat Nanami-san, you need to spend more time practicing. You shouldn't take her lightly.” He sits forward, seriousness taking over his expression, scolding, and Hinata’s eyes open curiously. “That would be insulting to her skill level. You waste too much time at my place… as much as I appreciate every moment you spend with someone like me.”

Hinata yawns. “Yeah, yeah. I come to your dorm _to_ practice with you.” He takes a sip of his coffee, steam painting coziness onto his skin, and he looks relaxed.

“Hinata-kun, you can't dream of beating her if you can't even beat me.”

Hinata’s sloshing coffee around his mouth like he wants to spit at his face. He thinks on it a while before swallowing with a hopeless exhale sinking into his chair.

“You’re just too lucky.” Hinata sighs. He rests his chin on his hands. “An ultimate, huh… _Nanami._..” A characteristically Hinata groan, the one he gets when he worries for the future of all his odd friends. An ordinary person who had a knack for meeting the stranger people in life. “What are we going to do with her? She’s like, a gaming addict…”

“It’s her passion. You can’t come between an Ultimate and her passion...” Komaeda frowns. _That would be sinful. It wouldn't let them shine._ “I don't think you need to worry about her, Hinata-kun.”

“Of course I do… she’s like, my best friend?” A thought flickers over Hajime’s face. “God- does she even eat _lunch_?”

“No.”

Hinata’s panicking now, Komaeda can tell from the way his hands are running over his face. Then he’s peeking through his fingers at Komaeda in a way that makes his face heat up.

“What?” he manages to laugh out.

“Oh… I was just thinking…” Hinata’s pointing at Komaeda, then at himself. “... of what you are to me, then..?”

The question makes Komaeda still. “Are we... friends, Hinata-kun?” Is that a bit presumptuous?  _What else could someone like him be?_

“Right. Friends.” Hinata furrows his brow, unsure, a shy disappointment cast over his face, but he’s ruffling his hair in frustration. “Just feels kinda… different, I guess… I don't understand it myself. I don't always understand _you_.” The boy takes a final swipe of his coffee, before picking up the bill, and taking his card. “It makes me want to know you more.”

Komaeda understands what he means. There’s a mysterious bond between them, that’s a bit hard to describe. All he knows is that there's something sleeping inside the boy that he’s learned to _really, really love_.

The doorbell chimes as they walk out of the coffee shop, and Hinata’s stretching to get all the drowsiness out from the cozy cafe. Mid-stretch, he stops. He's looking at Komaeda like that again, the same expression as when he was peeking through his fingers, and it’s now that Komaeda realises what it is. An honest attempt to figure him out. It’s half recognition, like he’s stuck mid-realization about an important fact but his kid nephew hid the biggest piece of the puzzle underneath the couch, just out of reach. Incomplete understanding. His eyebrows are furrowed.

Hinata speaks slowly, like he’s processing information as well. “Nanami said something about wanting to give you advice on your… dating sim?”

Komaeda’s eyes widen. Dating sim?

_“Ahah- I don’t play-”_

“No, its okay… don't be shy. If you can tell Nanami, you can tell me, right? Nanami plays them too.” A flush goes over the tanned boys cheeks. “Like… I've touched one before too, so… yeah, don't worry about it.” He waves it away, coughing and Nagito’s amused.

Oh.

“Uh… she said something like… your Route A might seem like they have a good head on their shoulders… but they’re also kind of…” Hinata taps his head twice, simulating a knocking sound. “... dense? I guess? So you gotta choose the more... obvious options. Something like that.”

_Oh._

“Is that so?” Komaeda blinks long and slow, nodding, trying to stifle his incredulous laugh.

_Had he been that transparent?_

He shoots a cheerful smile. “Ahah, tell Nanami-san… thank you! And ah, as always… despite her sleepy look, she really is quite sharp, isn’t she?”

Hinata nods, typing onto his phone. “You can tell her yourself.” There’s a beep in Komaeda’s pockets, and he’s looking at Chiaki’s contact details. “Nanami says you've started talking to them recently… I think she’s happy about that.”

He looks up at Komaeda, grey eyes locked on green. A moment of hesitation, Hinata’s still searching, but he gives up.

“You’re hard to figure out.” Hinata chuckles, laced with a defeated sigh. “You’re not always straightforward-”

Komaeda flinches slightly, offended, frown emerging. “I say what I mean.”

“Yeah... but you’re not always honest… with yourself.” Hinata points.

“I think _Hinata-kun_ is hard to understand…” Komaeda’s threading a hand through his hair in frustration. “... how he’s not afraid of himself.”

 _Not afraid to be honest about himself.._  
_about his own flaws, goals and desires...  
_ _how he faces them head on, regardless of failure..._

… and how he has that effect on others as well.

“That’s... _not true."_ Hinata laughs, softly, but ends up shaking his head before a quiet ‘nevermind’ slips from his lips, and he turns to wave goodbye.

That night before he sleeps, Komaeda pulls out his phone in darkness of his room.

_> Thank you, Nanami-san!_

_> You’re right, as expected of the class president._

In a few seconds, he receives a _ding._

> . _.....my full combo_

>  _...yea... i think_

...

 

Liking someone _straight_ was a hard thing to do, but he’d somehow handled it until one day, he had the boy in front of him, kissing him harshly into the beanbag, fingers falling at his sides, green gaze falling apart and longing.

He'd found himself with his fingers in his hair, his slender arms falling above broad shoulders, said boy’s knees dug into the beanbag underneath him, shifting to get better access.

Lazily, afterwards, panting, the boy’s uniform unbuttoned halfway down his broad tanned chest, tie strewn across his hips, very much framing the other boy’s obvious…

Oh my.

Komaeda’s gaze flutters knowingly up at the other boy, propped up on one elbow and leaning over his bean bag to look at the boy, dazed and staring down the empty corridor.

“Komaeda?”

“Yeah?”

“I guess I'm not so straight after all.” He breathes.

Komaeda hums.

 

…

 

It’s hard to hold back when it’s Hinata and he’s always so good. He thinks his milky skin is too pale and too placid, that it looks sickly on top of the other’s healthy tan, but having his firm fingers threaded into his hair and splayed out on his back and breathing and panting and groaning his name through his closed throat in a way he would never let himself do outside is so good. Hinata can pretend to be composed and okay and- _I-I’m fine, d-don’t be so full of yourse- mmmrgh! -_ but the moment he plants his lips on Hinata’s he knows the boy goes blank and any control he thinks he has is shattered and he’s making more sounds than he’d ever be willing to admit afterwards. And he’s actually so

vanilla

it’s adorable.

_Hah._

A hitched breath and he’s trembling with Komaeda’s mouth wrapped warm around him- looking down at him with terrified, curious, wide eyes, when Komada meets his gaze with a lowering of eyelids, running his wet mouth slowly up his length, tongue lapping at the tip, and he’s throwing his head back and-

 _A-a-oh my f-fucking fucking s-shit_ fuck _\- K-Komaeda, w-what the f-fuc-_  
  
\- a loud groan.

Hinata’s also very creative with his use of swear words when he's so undone and out of his mind. He uses them choicily in daily life but under his hands, they’re unravelled everywhere like his tie, white shirt, black slacks and boxer shorts that… Komaeda can’t really even find on the floor at the moment. _But that’s alright_ . Hinata is so real, all trembling sweat and moans beneath him. All grammatical sense is left in the living room (or outside the house, if they didn’t make it into the bedroom that day), and then Hinata gets self-conscious and covers his mouth with the back of his hands as if there’s still any pride left when he’s being sucked off by someone so disgusting and vile like himself- _someone so hopelessly dirty and useless_ \- but then his eyes open to look down at Komaeda again and his thighs squeeze tighter around his shoulders and he’s trying to catch himself, his eyes snap shut and hitching his breath seconds at a time, trying desperately to focus, and edge himself out as he gets close close close

really fucking close

and he’s _gasping_  
  
_and Komaeda_

 _and_ _f-fucking god_

and he stills.

Muscles taut, still shaking, breath stuttering, eyes shut, mouth open in a silent cry, and Komaeda’s always been good at cleaning so there’s pretty much _no mess._ He clambers on top of his chest proudly, smiling, elbows on either side of his head and looking down at Hinata…

“God, Komaeda.” Hinata breathes, trying to catch his breath, chest still coming up and down.

“Blasphemy, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata throws a pillow at his face.

 

…

 

Hinata is fun because he doesn't hide. Komaeda thinks it’s not because he has nowhere to do so, but because he chooses not to. He settles down on his chest, and lets the breathing rock him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Jen! She's a sweetheart and has made my time in this fandom so lovely, I'm so grateful to have met her!
> 
> The next part will probably be out soon ;v; <3 
> 
> I'm @shslpenda on twitter and perpetually thinking about these two? So if you talk to me about them, I'll probably cry...


	2. Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's easy to get lost in someone’s kisses, be comfortable in your skin, and forget how disgusting you really are. On the surface you masquerade as gentility, but inside you’re spoiled milk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING// there are some hinted dark/ negative thoughts to do with death and very subtle suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> Some major POV and writing style switches the whole way through. An explorative style.

 

 

 ...

 

 

 _“Hinata-kun, why did you talk to me that first night?”_  


Hazel eyes traveled up to the ceiling, tanned skin blue in the dark as he hovered above him. The clock ticks as the gears in his head turn, Hinata spends a good while thinking.

“I saw you were alone… I guess.”

A nonchalant shrug.

_Ahah._

“So, ah… you took pity on me?”

“Wait- I-” Amusement bleeds into Komaeda’s features as he watches his friend’s face morph through realisation, horror, disgust, panic. “I- but- that’s not-”

“Shh.”

He chuckles lowly, setting a finger on his friend’s lips as he just stares at him, even in the dark it’s saucer wide. He pulls him into his lips, reaches to part them with his tongue- but he can feel Hinata tense against him, teeth clenched, uncomfortable. Komaeda pulls away, frowning, head cocked to the side softly. “Hinata-kun, you don’t have to worry. I get it- you’re too nice. You think trash like me doesn't know how disgusting I am?” A chuckle escapes his lips, and it seems to slap Hinata in the face. “Maybe it’s a blessing that I’m as worthless as I am- if that was what caught your attention, after all! In a strange way, that’s really lucky, right, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata looks offended, pulling away, and Komaeda lets him because he couldn't possibly keep him. Komaeda talks too much. He knows this. The way the words fall out too loosely, because there is no reason to keep them in when he’s not trying to keep anyone here. Not against their will, at least. So if the words give them knowledge, and knowledge gives them power, then all the power to them to make good decisions the way he’d never been able to.

“Komaeda, _that’s not_ -”

“Hinata-kun, who can't help but help everyone. Hinata-kun, who can't help but be the shining light that he is- ah, although it’s left you here, and now you're trapped with _me_ \- ”

“God- Komaeda, that’s not ...true? Can you _not_ say things like that?”

“Hinata-kun, you shine like the sun! Don’t you wonder what it’s like to be with someone else? Someone who isn’t meant to be alone, perhaps?”

“I’m with you by _choice_.”

“ _By choice_ ? Is it because Hinata-kun is from a no-brand school-” That one _cut_ , Hinata’s staring at him. “-perhaps I was the only one close enough to your level-”

“Bullshit, Komaeda! What are you-?!”

“P-perhaps if Hinata-kun was aware enough of his feelings- aha- perhaps he wouldn't have made this _mistake?_ ”

He’s shaking now, visibly shaking, the feel of his own nails digging into bare arms. And Hinata looks terrified, terrified, terrified- of him? Terrified of _him_ , of course he’d be terrified of him- _trapped here_ \- terrified. He closes his eyes, waits for the sharp bark-

“It’s not a _mistake_!”

-that he needs-

“Don’t you _dare_ tell _me_ -”

-raw -

“what I feel about _you_.”

-honest.

“I don’t know why I talked to you, okay? I just did- is that so weird?! I wasn't trying to use you to get into Hope’s Peak- I just wanted to reach out- is that really so _bad_?!”

But Komaeda can tell he’s tired. There are circles under his eyes. These are exactly the symptoms of being around him. Nothing good could ever come about from it.

Hinata’s fluffing up the blanket, catching it in the air, lifting it, draping it over Komaeda’s shoulders and he can feel the warm cotton wrap around him. He’s pulled into him, so that his pale forehead bumps against Hinata’s, and his heart falls.

Hinata-kun was always too nice.

He can smell the mint in his breath, the soap on his skin as he pulls him in. Nice and clean. Warm and snug.

“I talked to you cos I wanted to talk to you. We became friends, right? Was that really so bad? You didn’t hate it, did you?”

He feels his stomach clench.

“ _Of course not_ , Hinata-kun.”

“We’re like this now, and you still think I came closer to you to get into Hope’s Peak?”

“Hinata-kun…”

“I wanted to know _you_ , the same way I wanted to know _them_. Did you think it was easy? Do you even know how you act sometimes?” He’s laughing, exasperated.

 _Stubborn boy. He pushed-_ pushed _\- himself into his life._ He’d _never asked for it. He’d never asked._

“I don’t know why I talked to you… maybe it was cos you were alone? We were at a club, right...? People talk to people?”

And that's why they were here now.

He can see Hinata’s eyelids falling now, rough fingers tilting up his chin, and Komaeda can see him, tense and concentrated.

“Maybe I did talk to you because you were alone… and I wanted to know more about you…? But that’s not why I fell…” His gaze drops, staring down at his collarbone… was there something there? Something unsightly, perhaps?

“Komaeda…” Hinata sighs, and drags the blanket over both their heads, so they’re trapped within the night, as if it would make him forget. “After everything we’ve talked about, is this really all you think of us?”

Hinata’s words are woven excellently. It’s not a bad trap, really. He’d pour it in a mug, and drink it in, let the stars glow in his stomach the way it was when he was with Hinata.

Being with Hinata-kun almost made him feel sort of… human. All it took was a warm cup of coffee to wash the dread away.

 

 

...

 

 

 

 _Have you ever stood in front of the train_  
_supposed to take you home?_  


But it’s a bit daunting, for it to take you home alone, you know?

So you waited for years and years at the train station, past the few second window everyday where you know you’ve missed the opportunity because by that time you’ve stepped off the platform and into the conditioned carriage? So, it takes you instead to the empty place with blue curtains and the neat desk, where books that have been read a few too many times line the shelves. Stationary stationery, bunched neat in the corner in the pencil holder, beside piles of stacked files. Homework, and marked exams of the mind, _and_ body... The fridge is nearly empty but for slabs of butter and a few brown vials, labelled 50mg //***-zone// or whatever mess of letters and numbers the kind man gives you with a smile that day, as if it were supposed to mean something.

The words _do_ hold meaning.

They represent molecular structures, Komaeda knows, with the elaborate linkages of hexagons, pentagons, and tiny little knobs of covalent bonds that hold them together. To hold meaning in a more significant way was a large ask, because it takes millions of them to form macromolecular structures. Millions of those to form cells, tissues, _then organ systems_ , and all in synchronization perhaps they can succeed in bringing life to just one perfect organism. The way everything must harmonise to come together and make the most beautiful outcome? It’s always been fascinating. But he’s seen how quickly a billions of small, little molecules can lose meaning.

In the moment walking home from school that a dog barked in warning before the truck could hit. In the phone call he received when he was 7, waiting eagerly for the souvenirs he’d receive from his parents. In the way he watched as the summer in his own eyes faded to match the color of his winter hair. The ugly, brown bottles build up quickly, perhaps the only indication of passage of time, as the days blurred together... and then when there is too much? They just go in the bin, and the cycle plays over and over again.

People think white is the color of new, cleanly, sparkling. A few times girls had commented on the pale color of his eyes, and hair, like it was a good thing. He wanted to politely remind them that it just wasn't the case. White was everywhere, in the temporary snow, in the temporary hospital walls, in the temporary milk that always sours too quickly. White is the color of a visit to this world which was nearly over. White spoils.

That's not what he wanted.

That’s just how it _was_.

That’s really sad, because they never point out his pale eyes after that. They don't really even talk to him again.

People just didn't want to be reminded of temporary things, and Komaeda was a walking reminder.

He didn't mean to, but he was just honest, like that. He just knew the truth, and he wasn't afraid to say it.

The next winter... is different, though.

It’s much more comforting, when he’s there with a scarf around his uniform neck. Something to anchor the ever-changing scene. He looks back at you with that warmth in his chestnut hair and his bourbon smile. Warm hazel to the winter’s blanket white, warmth in his hand as he drags you into the train and you bump chests and look sheepishly into his neck.

It’s such an ordinary pleasure that you don't deserve.

Then you realise the train comes every day. You can remember a few of the same stares recycled every few weeks.

“It’s so cold. Aren't you cold?” Hinata asks, with his arms against your waist, ignoring the stares.

How can one nod his head when it’s the warmest they’ve ever been?

But then it’s spring, and you’re both dewy skin and he's sneezing from the pollen in the air. It’s summer, and it's way too wet from the sweat, it is simply not pleasant to bunch too closely together even in a full carriage. Autumn is a season that complements the color of his humble air.

Then you’re one year older when winter’s here again.

Half-hearted goodbyes between your class plus one in a final Christmas party, because they all know they’re going to see each other again. Komaeda always says goodbye, but Hinata pulls your hand and says next time, and when he grips your hand like that with the firmness of forever, there’s no way you can disagree.

Another blink of an eye and graduation is gone.

He makes your room _such a mess_. There’s always too much in the fridge, but at least the number of brown bottles stays constant because he makes sure they leave one by one. It’s really hard to escape it, when he’s so fussy about taking it before breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes Komaeda tries to skip lunch, but recently Hinata-kun’s been giving the bottles a little shake when he comes back from work, and an angry Hinata-kun is not a fun Hinata-kun. In fact, an angry Hinata-kun is quite a frustrating Hinata-kun. A Hinata-kun who withholds a few too many things Komaeda wants that he’s recently decided he isn't willing to go to sleep without. So he’s thought about pouring them out, the 20mg, and watching it spiral down the drain, dark whirlpools that would otherwise paint his tastebuds with despair.

But then he thinks of the funny face Hinata makes on the days he forgets to bring his lunch, hurrying down to pick it up with a kiss that turns into a makeshift gag.

“Tastes terrible.” He'd mutter, clutching the brown bag in hand.

“Perfect!” Komaeda would chirp back, and then Hinata would stay for a few minutes pretending the olive oil drizzled fruit salad Komaeda made tasted good but giving a bravely _good shot_ at eating it, before Komaeda hands him a paper wrapped kusamochi that Hinata pockets for later.

Hinata slips him the quick kiss that Komaeda pockets for later as well, in his pathetic memory, with a sigh as he mulls around for the rest of the day.

......

He picks up a newspaper on his way home.

......

When he gets home, there are newspaper clippings he snips out, and hangs on the fridge for later. Komaeda knows the brand of Hope’s Peak is the most useful thing to him here. Even so, the luck that got him in isn’t by his side because the only updates he gets are job listing updates, and those aren’t exactly the updates he’s waiting for.

He’s not sure how much longer he has to wait, and if the update he needs will come before something else does...

Every night Hinata takes a good long look at them, the newspaper clippings, as if counting them in his head before turning away to take a shower. On the days where one of the clippings goes missing, Hinata comes in early, television remote in his hand, plucking the papers out from under Komaeda’s fingers, and slipping them into the bedside drawers. Pressing his lips on his before Komaeda can even think.

It makes things… okay. He thinks.

He wonders how many more winters the bottles can trick them. But if for once he tries, for the first time again in his life, _he does_ … he’ll down them like alcohol, so he can pretend to forget the one thing he doesn't. The constant ticking in his head.

It’ll make things okay, he thinks.

He wonders if Hinata can hear it too.

 

 

...

 

 

 

_Hinata’s not in bed by 11:30 today,  
_

so Komaeda takes a peek from the doorway. The corridor is dim, and only the dining room has light, with Hinata’s frame illuminated by the small laptop screen. The colors are scrolling past his face, and Komaeda slinks forward in the dark, propping himself up on the back of the chair.

Hinata turns around at that, blue toothbrush hanging off his mouth, and Komaeda feels his eyebrows raise.

“Hinata-kun, what are you doing?”

Hinata blinks, before turning back to the screen and scrolling past forums of text. Some kind of recommendation guide? Hinata tilts his head back to let out some kind of bubbly sound, before he shakes his head and gets up for the bathroom, as Komaeda follows in mirth.

“Holiday.”

He says in between gargles, once his mouth is free and Komaeda raises an eyebrow.

“Ah… where to?”

Hinata thinks for a second.

“Some kind of tropical island, maybe? A five star resort? Just the two of us?”

Hinata’s voice is longing, but he rolls his eyes… an indication of… ah. Humour?

Komaeda can see the cheeky contemplation on Hinata’s face as they make their way to bed. He watches as Hinata flops down first, letting out a large sigh, and with this new roadblock Komaeda has to take the long way round. When he slips in, Hinata turns around, digging his elbow into the pillow to face him, and all Komaeda can do is smile appreciatively, and try to carry on the attempt at humour.

“You’re going to book an island?”

“Yeah. Right.” Hinata says through the yawn. “Might as well buy the entire thing, right.” Sleepy snickering.

“I’m not sure if that’s possible.” Komaeda laughs, breathily, settling in as well.

Hinata opens one eye, deadpan, before submitting to the effort and closing it again.

“We can at least try.” It’s a sigh. A few seconds of silence. “Not the whole island. Wouldn’t get my hopes up… just… a few days… sometime... somewhere… would be nice… you know...?”

Komaeda drums his fingers on the blanket.

That’s a whole lot of effort, and Komaeda’s not sure why he tries so hard. He wonders how easily Hinata can see the future. He wonders how he can reach it so easily.

 

 

 ...

 

 

 

_Do you remember what it’s like to feel hopeless?_

 

Is this a happiness you deserve? To be a stain on someone’s skin… are you proud of it? To leech off the accomplishments and reassurance of others, and bathe in it, because it’s all you can do… after all, that’s the closest to the sun you can get, right?

Do you see him? He’s shining, isn’t he? How he’s different to you, born without the mark of wealth and excellence to fall back on. He is _extra_ ordinary. It makes him _extraordinary_. But what he is in spite of it…

Someone who can overcome such an unfortunate curse of being insignificant, disposable, through sheer hope and force of personality... it’s really a blessing in disguise, isn’t it? Something like that, aren’t they special?

Don’t you want to be like that too?

To be around something like that, is that really what you deserve?

Things like this were never things you could control...

Tell me… do they really deserve to be dragged down by you?

 

 

 ...

 

 

_Today is..._

 

 

“How can you tell someone they’re going to die, when you don’t fucking _know_? How can you tell someone they're going to die for years, take things back so easily, and issue another due date? That’s **_bullshit._** ”

“Hinata-kun.” It’s a warning glare, but the boy is livid, and the nurse is cowering in the corner. She’s so meek, the words don’t even come out, the gauze wrapped around her hand slipping to fall to the floor, strandy hair a mess, clipboard ringing in her shiver.

Suddenly, there’s a snap at the door, and their gazes travel to see a dark haired man, messy with gentle features, manga slammed shut between slender fingers. The nurse jolts and skitters, taking the opportunity to leave the room as quickly as possible, leaving behind a closed door and a stifling silence, with a small 'thank you' that echoes in the still room.  

“We’re not telling him he’s going to die, but the MRI scans don’t lie, you dipshit.” The man walks into the room, one hand in the pocket of his black trousers, on the side where his shirt is messily tucked into his trousers, as if he simply didn't care. "It’s the severity of his condition. What, are you going to tell him he doesn't have frontotemporal dementia? Are you actually blind? Or just an idiot?” Hinata flinches, but his eyes continue to burn. 

“Aha... can we please settle down?” A voice from the bed, Komaeda's swinging his legs backwards and forwards, arms coming up defensively, eyes closed sheepishly.

"That's all you've been saying for years. _That's the only thing we've heard for years_. Do you know... do you know how that feels?"

The man sighs. "You don't understand."

" _You_ don't understand!"

Silence. A tired look crosses over pale blue eyes, which drill into fiery green.

“You really are simple. Do you really think it's as simple as giving him brain surgery? Is that supposed to fix everything? _There's no cure yet-_ ”

Hinata says under his breath. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

The neurologist gestures over to the door, manga in hand. "You can start by leaving the room."

"No. Tell me, _what am I supposed to do_?"

Hinata grits his teeth. The way the man waves his hand is infuriating. The way he looks up from below his lashes is _infuriating._  

The man gives a huff of a sigh, and to Hinata, it's...

"Huh. Do you want me to give you brain surgery, and you could become a neurosurgeon? Or do you think I could give you brain surgery and somehow you'd gain some lucky power, and by association he manages to live forever?"

...  _too much_.

Matsuda's eyes are fixed on Hinata. “Things don't work like that, you numb-skull. You're ordinary.”

"Aha, Matsuda-kun, _please..."_

"There's no way I can just sit around and do _nothing_."

Matsuda’s eyes flicker over to the pale boy sitting with legs hanging off the hospital bed, and over.

“You see him?" he says, and Hinata flinches. "Of course you do. It's normal to want to save people you love." Hinata's eyes narrow. “It's a shared human trait. You want to help? He-" another gesture, and Hinata's eyes are on the floor. "- can help us learn more about the condition. The answer isn't to turn a blind eye to it.”

Silence. 

"So get out. I have a patient to tend to, and you’re in the way.”

A few steps, and the door slams in front of them. Komaeda's legs are dangling happily back and forth. 

Matsuda has fingers digging into his temple. He looks up, thick brows knitted together, from beneath his lashes. 

“He’s emotional, isn't he?”

Komaeda smiles.

 

…

 

On the way home, Hinata’s not happy. His head is hardly above the steering wheel, and Komaeda thinks he looks dangerously like he’s trying to drive with his elbows. By the fear gripped in his chest, even someone as hopeless as _him_ could decipher that was _such_ a bad decision.

“Hinata-kun, if you continue to drive like this, knowing my luck, we’re both going to end up in a horrible accident.” Komaeda laughs, and Hinata switches gears, straightening up, grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I'd really rather at least one of us make it out of here alive." 

"Please don't... say things like that." 

"Aha, there was really no reason for you to defend me over something so inconsequential. It is also pointless to argue against Matsuda-kun- he's the best at what he does! We can't do anything but trust him at his word. Hinata-kun, it really isn't a big deal..." He's still smiling. He's been ever since he's left the hospital. He hopes the cheer will rub off on Hinata-kun eventually, and he'll realise things really aren't that bad. "You really don't have to be so concerned. It isn't good for your health."

"I hate it when you say that. I really can't understand how you can talk like that. And I really don't think I want to." It's a murmur under Hinata's breath.

Komaeda shrugs highly, his hood jumping cutely before landing on his shoulders. 

"They have no right to tell you what you can and can't do, or to put you through any of that, when they've been wrong again and again. Doesn't that... doesn't that affect you at all? It's so..." 

"They haven't _put me_ through anything." Komaeda says matter of factly. It's strange to insinuate they did anything to put him in the situation, when it's not like they were responsible for his own failings. "Not everyone can change what they're born to be, Hinata-kun."

Hinata purses his lips. He's not going to grace that kind of talk with any kind of response. And that's _completely understandable_ , because his words are _wasted_ here, on someone like _him_. Hinata might have been stubborn, but even he didn't have the power to wear down what years and years of experience and interaction with medical professionals have told him.

"I've long come to terms with the fact that some people just aren't worth spending time on. If it seems as though Hinata-kun is starting to realise, I'm really glad-"

There's a violent break that throws both of them forward against the seat belts at the red lights. Komaeda can feel it dig into his lungs and stomach, and he lets out a wheeze, a cough, a breathy laugh.

_My, Hinata-kun's driving...!_

"Stop. Just stop."

Hinata's not looking up. His eyes are cast downwards, facing black slacks, his breathing is heavy and Komaeda can feel it- counting to the high pitched thrills of the traffic lights- and he wonders if he has to shake him, to wake him up, because they're in the middle of the road. Luckily, in the final seconds before the light turns green, he sees Hinata prop up, shaking his head vividly before gripping the steering wheel at arms length away and pushing the pedal so the car starts with a jolt. It's only a few minutes, at the first dent in the road, that Komaeda feels the car swerve and Hinata's parked at the roadside, and he's... doing nothing again.

Just, nothing again.

Just, nothing.

Then...

 

" _... what am I supposed to do_?" It's cracked. It's nothing like back in the neurologist's office. His voice is weak, and this is... so uncomfortable. Ha...

Komaeda can feel the tension run through his right shoulder, and he has to clamp on it to stop himself from shaking. 

 

"Hinata-kun. I'm already unbearably grateful that even someone like me... can receive your kindness and attention at all!" He tries to say it in the cheeriest way possible. In the most genuine way possible. In a way he definitely, from the bottom of his heart, meant it.

 

Hinata's shoulders fall at that. If it was possible, his head falls lower too. They sit in silence at the roadside as the cars go past, beside the pine tree forest, and Komaeda starts to notice the changing colors of the sky, from dust blue to pink to lavender to- grey, when the clouds start rolling in. Was it going to rain? 

It was.

"It's dangerous to drive in the rain." Komaeda says, to Hinata, but all he receives is a slight murmur of affirmation, and a shift so even if his face is in his arms, he's facing the window more than anything. There's water ticking on the car top, ticking on the window, ticking down Hinata's reflection...

There's a lot of time.

There's a lot of time, so he thinks about what Matsuda carefully instructed him to do that day. He thinks of the bottles in his backpack and how he'll go about swallowing them without retching, so Hinata won't be upset. He thinks about Hinata-kun, who was always so kind. He thinks about Hinata-kun, who is _always_ so _kind._

Hinata-kun, who was always trying his hardest even when he didn't deserve it.

He feels sorry for Hinata-kun, who was always trying to understand. 

He wonders if this is what Hinata-kun signed up for. 

Aha... of course not. 

Hinata's so still and unlike himself that Komaeda has to sit back and close his eyes to hear his breathing... he's so silent today. Maybe once or twice he hears a deep breath and a shuffle before it fades into the sound of the rain again. At one point he sees the breath fog up the window of the car.

Eventually, the rain stops, Hinata slowly sits up with a swallowed sigh, starts the engine, and they're on their way home. When the cars pass them with their headlights because _Hinata-kun's driving so slowly today_ , Komaeda's grateful for the way the raindrops stick to the windows, because they cast pretty dancing lights on Hinata's stern face in the dark.

When they get in, Hinata leaves first, straight after parking, slamming the car door shut behind him, swiping the card on the reader and walking into the apartment complex. He doesn't look back or bother to wait for Komaeda- which is fine. He's probably not in the mood to talk today, so Komaeda makes a mental note to tell him about the leak in the car.

 

Rain must have gotten into the car at some point, because the steering wheel is so wet.

 

 

 

 ...

 

_Morning coffee is..._

 

“It’s... bitter.”

Hinata says, hesitant eyes flying up to the boy before him. The soft color of the pink apron around his neck, and the white wool of his sweater clash with the sharp gaze under delicate lashes, fixed on the table before him. Hinata exhales, fingers thrumming nervously on his slacks under the table.

“Really bitter.” It didn’t matter too much, and Hinata raised the cup to his lips anyway, taking another warm gulp of the grainy, bitter substance.

“Oh?” The other boy replies, grey eyes pointed at the window, white in the morning light. “Ah… I’m _really_ sorry then, Hinata-kun.”

 

_Oh..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty nervous about this one, especially because this was the reason I started reading DR0 (for you, Jen!!!) but I haven't finished it yet so... *fingers crossed* that I didn't mess up Matsuda's characterization too much...! I tried for you... *clenches fist* 
> 
> This was intended to be lighthearted, I swear.
> 
> I'm @shslpenda on twitter and perpetually thinking about these two? So if you talk to me about them, I'll probably cry...


End file.
